


How Liberty Dies

by ClassicHer



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Burn, where they dont fall in love in 10 minutes lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5295599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassicHer/pseuds/ClassicHer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series following Helen, the sole survivor of a Vault-Tec experiment, and her not so loyal merc bodyguard on a hunt for caps and a lost son. Good things do take time, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Long Road Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> “No man or woman born, coward or brave, can shun his destiny.” –Homer, The Iliad

MacCready was _almost_ enjoying himself.

Eyes on his glass, swirling the bourbon inside, it was almost fun to get berated by Winlock and Barnes, yet again. At this point it was almost a hobby, which, when he thought about it, was a hilariously stupid hobby. Having them chase him around the Commonwealth was about the closest it got to fun in his life, these days. 

“Listen up, MacCready,” Winlock snarled. “The only reason we haven’t filled your body full of bullets is that we don’t want a war with Goodneighbor. See, we respect other peoples’ boundaries. We know how to play the game. It’s something _you_ never learned.” 

Winlock stabbed a finger into MacCready’s chest for emphasis, and he smacked it away. “Glad to have disappointed you.”

Someone else had entered the room, snuck in while he was busy trying not to clock one to Tweedledee or Tweedledum. Once he noticed she was there, though, it became such an unnerving presence that he wanted his current exchange over with as soon as possible so he could tell her to leave. All he could really tell without looking away from Winlock’s ugly mug was that she was female, and staring with force at him. Or, them, he couldn’t tell. But he knew it was with some intention because he could feel her eyes bearing down on him. It made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and not in a good way.

“You can play the tough guy all you want, but if we hear you’re still operating inside Gunner territory, all bets are off. You got that?”

“You finished?” MacCready sneered. 

“Yeah. We’re finished. Come on, Barnes.” With a jerk of his thumb, the two Gunners marched out of the VIP room. 

The woman approached him almost immediately. Great. MacCready reached back to pick up his glass. “Listen, lady, if you’re preachin’ about the Atom or looking for a friend, you’ve got the wrong guy. If you need a hired gun…then maybe we can talk.”

Up close, she was possibly even more of an anomaly. For starters, she was wearing a Vault-Tec suit. That in itself wasn’t too bad, since raiders sometimes looted Vaults, but it looked pretty new comparatively. There was more, too, but he just couldn’t…quite place what it was. Just a weird feeling. 

“A hired gun…” She tested the phrase, like it was foreign. “Maybe. How about you tell me who those guys were, first?”

“A couple of morons looking to climb the ladder of success by stepping on everyone else on the way up.” He took a crumpled pack of smokes from his pocket and pinched one free. “You shouldn’t be surprised, though. That’s how it works when you run with the Gunners.”

“I’ve never heard of them. Who are they?”

“The Gunners? One of the biggest gangs in the Commonwealth. Got a rep for being crazy…you know, so tightly wound they were almost like a cult or something.” He lit the cigarette and blew the smoke to the side. “Stuck with them for a while ‘cause the money was good, but I never really fit in. That’s why I made a clean break and started flying solo. Now, how about you? How do I know I won’t end up with a bullet in my back?”

“You don’t.” The woman made a lot of eye contact, something he could both respect and hate. “It’s part of the risk. Right?”

“Can’t argue with that. Tell you what, price is 250 caps, up front, and no bargaining. What do you say?”

There it was, a look MacCready knew well: the crestfallen look of someone who was about to spend most of their dough. It was hard to pity her, though. “Yeah. I guess that sounds fine.” 

The lady took a few pouches from her big rucksack and handed them to him. Another weird thing struck him as he took her caps—her nails were very clean, manicured and polished. No one had nails like that. He raised an eyebrow at her, but took the caps. Money’s money, even if crazy’s dishing it out.

“You probably already heard, but the name’s MacCready.” He held out his hand. 

The woman eyed him suspiciously. “Helen.” When they shook, her handshake was so weak he thought he might have broken her fingers. 

“All right, boss. Let’s get out of here.”

Yeah, she was a bit nutty. “Tightly wound” would be an understatement. Walking out of the Third Rail, it seemed like she was snapping her neck back and forth at every armed city watch, ghoul and settler that passed by. It could be worse, he supposed. After all, she was still paying. Sometimes the ones missing a few screws would pay him extra, to ensure he wouldn’t bail or something, and she was a prime candidate for that sort of thing. MacCready was sure that he’d be counting his blessings before the sun even went down. 

\-------------

Night had fallen, and MacCready was cursing every god that had ever called itself holy.

Helen, as it turned out, was the most impossible charge on the planet. Even looking past the way she was constantly jumping at every little noise, it turned out she didn’t know how to use a gun. She had a pistol with her, but never touched it, instead settling on a crappy, dirty, rusted machete. He had to resist rolling his eyes, in front of her at least. To be fair, she could really put some weight into those swings, but it would never last. He was already thinking about what a pain it was gonna be to get back to Goodneighbor after she inevitably got herself killed. On top of that, she had a very annoying habit of vanishing with no warning. The first stop they made, inside an old office building, he turned his back on her for not more than thirty seconds to kick away some mole rats and she had disappeared. Only when he called for her did she come downstairs, unsmiling and stuffing her bag full of useless old world money. 

They stopped early for the night, in a small building that used to be a cottage but was long since robbed of all valuables and nearly crumbling apart. She swatted at the resident radroaches, wrinkling her nose in disgust and toeing their corpses out the door before barring it with an old chair. 

MacCready plopped himself down in a easy chair facing the window, the stuffing popping out like fungus and the green thread nearly gray with age. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, exhaling the smoke in a sigh. 

Behind him, Helen was loudly rifling through the cabinets and dresser drawers for valuables. A loud crack made MacCready start and look back to see her smashing open an old telephone with the heel of her machete. From the busted plastic, she pulled some intact wiring and the dialing rotor. 

“Don’t make me carry all that worthless crap,” He said, pointing at her with the hand holding his cigarette. “I ain’t here to lug around old-world junk.”

She pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. There was something distinctly maternal in her glare, and he almost laughed at how much he felt like a kid being scolded. “I’m perfectly willing to carry it. And it’s not worthless.”

“Well, it sure as hel…heck isn’t valuable. What do you need it for, anyway?” 

She stuffed her “prizes” into her bag and sat on the couch. “You’ll see later.” Then, in a different tone of voice, “I’m on a moneymaking venture.”

MacCready raised his eyebrows and turned around fully, swiveling the chair. “Hey, now you’re speaking my language. That’s my favorite kind of venture.”

Something close to a smile almost touched her mouth, but didn’t stay. “Good. It’s part of why I hired you.” 

“Oh?” This could become favorable very fast. “I’m listening.” 

Helen sighed, apparently debating whether or not to let him in on it. With her eyebrows still furrowed in concentration, she leaned over to the end table to light a lantern. It flickered to life, driving off the encroaching night. He noticed that there was a rather large scar in her eyebrow, cutting a thin hairless streak through it. It was hard to guess her age; maybe early thirties? She almost looked older, the way she was permanently glowering, but certainly wasn’t older than him. Her hair was black, tied back in a stern knot, and her skin was pale for a wastelander—another weird thing about her. He hadn’t gotten a real close look at her face yet, and didn’t care to.

“I’m looking for someone.” She finally said, sitting back. “And to do it I’m going to need every cen…cap I can get.”

The slip of the tongue made MacCready’s eyebrow rise, but he decided not to point it out. Whatever. “All right, I getcha.”

Looking a little conflicted, she added, “I’m willing to do whatever I need to get it.”

The merc raised his other brow to join the first. “Anything as in…?” She shot him a glare, and then he did laugh. “Hey, if you can’t even say it there’s no way you’re gonna be able to pull it off.”

“Stealing. Extortion. Anything.” Another pause. “Not murder. I won’t go around looting caravans, I mean. I will kill raiders.” 

“You don’t exactly need an invitation to kill raiders. Those idiots’ll shoot at anything, including each other.” 

There was a lull, and Helen interjected with a little impatience. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Will you help me or not?”

He spluttered a laugh. “You hired me already, boss, I don’t got much of a choice.”

A red, angry flush brightened her sallow cheeks. “Aren’t I lucky, then. I found the biggest dumbass in this whole damn Commonwealth!”

“Aw, really? That hurts. I’ve only been working for you _one_ day,” He held up the corresponding number of fingers. “Just wait until we get into a real fight. Then you’ll be thanking your lucky stars you found me while I was feeling generous.”

His employer crossed her arms. “Oh? 250 caps in generous?”

“Sure, it is. I coulda doubled that and not lost one bit of sleep over it, you know.” The next drag he took from his cigarette was a little smug. Ah, it felt good to be in a contract where he didn’t feel like a whipped dog half the time. “Now get some sleep. Nothing’s gettin’ past me while I’m keeping watch.”

“What about you?” 

“I’ll wake you up when I get tired.” He grinned and turned back around to watch out the window. 

“Fine.” He could hear Helen shifting, getting comfortable on the bad couch. “But if you run away in the middle of the night, I’ll kill you.”

MacCready glanced back, but she wasn’t facing him anymore. It was the first thing out of her mouth that he didn’t want to scoff at; the first threatening thing, to be exact. He crossed an ankle over his knee, keeping his rifle on his lap. If not a good job, it certainly wouldn’t be a boring one.


	2. Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “If you are alone you belong entirely to yourself. If you are accompanied by even one companion you belong only half to yourself, or even less in proportion to the thoughtlessness of his conduct, and if you have more than one companion you will fall more deeply into the same plight.”  
> ― Leonardo da Vinci

“Here,” Her finger insistently tapped the map they’d rolled out on the floor, his map, because although she had a personal one on her wrist it was pretty hard to share. “This is where I want to go.”

MacCready looked up with more than a little irritation. His rifle had gotten jammed, pretty bad, and he was furiously cleaning it out, hunched down behind a heavy thicket of mutfruit plants. They were going north, but she was pointing out a spot that was on the other side of the Commonwealth, near the Boston Common. It took a few seconds for him to remember what, if anything, was there, but it clicked soon enough. 

“Sure, if you feel like getting your head on a pike. You do know what that place is, right?”

“It’s the hospital. Massachusetts General.”

“Yeah, was, about 200 years ago. That’s the Opera. It’s crawling with raiders now, a whole dang gang of them.”

“But there must still be valuables there that we can sell. Expensive surgery equipment must be hard to come by, right? Doctors out here would kill to have that kind of technology.”

He scoffed from the back of his throat. “If it was that easy, it wouldn’t have a rep. The current residents aren’t exactly opening their arms to welcome every scavenger who wanders by. There’s even a leader there, some guy called, uh…” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Church? Eh, close enough. Anyway, I hear he’s a bada…a bad guy, so let’s maybe try and not go there.”

Without smiling she slapped her hand down on the map, like he’d just answered her question. “Even better. Raiders have money on them all the time.”

“It’s not just a few raiders! The place could have dozens, hundreds of goons living there and they’re all gonna have lots of weapons, lots of stimpaks, and zero sympathy for our noble cause.”

Helen pursed her lips and looked back down at the map. She marked the Opera with a piece of chalky soil, and then another spot much further north. “Fine. This is where we’re going now. It’s a fairly new settlement, so…”

“Whoa, whoa. I thought you said you weren’t gonna go around killing people for money.” The idea of massacring farmers wasn’t one that appealed to him. 

“Did I say that we were killing anyone?”

He paused. “Huh, I guess you didn’t. Go on.”

“I was the one who made this place a settlement to begin with,” Helen said. “So it’s a little low on food and water right now, but it’s the closest place we can resupply at. It’s called the Sunshine Tidings Co-op.”

“Aww. Do you grow non-irradiated tatos and do jet while thinking about your place in the universe?”

She folded up the map and threw it at him. “You got half right.”

“Hey, nice. I’m more of a scotch man myself, but I could learn to like jet.”

“The food part, you moron.” She snapped, and got to her feet. “Come on. It’s not that far.”

\---------------

As it turned out, the Co-op wasn’t much of a settlement at all. Not even ten people were there, and all of them were scrawny settlers who wore their house on their shoulders. There was a handful of reasonably put-together old world houses on cinderblock stilts, a couple tin barns, and a triplet of silos on top of the hill. The place smelled like Brahmin manure and mud. MacCready looked around, raised his eyebrows appraisingly.

“Well, this is…interesting.” 

When he didn’t get a response, it was because Helen was already walking up towards the houses. Trying not to sigh his lungs out, he jogged up after her. One of the houses had a bright red door, and it was pretty obvious that was where she was heading. 

“From now on, if I ever tell you to go home, I want you to come here. Understood?”

“Sure thing, boss.” When they reached the house, he saw that there was a large “G” painted on the outside of the door. “What’s this stand for?”

Helen unlocked the door, glancing at him. “’General’.”

“General?”

“Of the Minutemen.”

“Of the _what_?” 

Instead of answering, she went inside the house and began taking the old-world crap she’d been collecting out of her bag. Packs of old money, the rotor from the phone, bundles of wiring, and an entire circuitboard were but a few of the knickknacks. 

The house itself was pretty nice, considering it was in the middle of a farm. It was a one-room bungalow, but it had four walls a roof and power, which made it almost a luxury. There were picture frames with burnt, fake stock photos on the bookshelf, and even a few more or less undamaged textbooks. The bed had a pillow and everything, covered by rugs and ratty blankets. The bedside table was covered in flowers in various stages of decay, some in vases and some not, bottles of wine, a toy rocket ship, and a large knife, right next to where her head would be. There was a desk with a lamp that, when MacCready tested it, actually worked. 

“Nice place,” he said. “You live here?”

Helen nodded. “Yes.” She put her bag to the side and stood. “Feel free to look around the Co-op. There’s food in the main barn, there,” She pointed straight out the door. “And there’s a place to cook it there,” She pointed out the window to the left. “We’ll stay here tonight and hit the Opera tomorrow.”

MacCready cocked his head in acquiescence, trying not to sound disappointed. “You got it, boss.”

She gave a short nod and left her house. Feeling uncomfortable in a home that wasn’t his, he left as well and decided to do a quick run of the farm, just to see what he was dealing with. The sun was sliding toward the horizon, looking watery and orange through the clouds of air pollution.

There were few fortifications, just some scrappy wooden barriers near the road guarded by people instead of turrets. It would take a drunken mole rat to attack the place. 

A quick look through the stockpiles of supplies yielded him an almost-empty bottle of whiskey, which he had no qualms about taking no matter whose it “was”. There actually were tato plants, much to his amusement, as well as a tiny, feathery field of razorgrain. But looking at plants got boring after about thirty seconds, so he circled back around to find his conveniently missing employer. 

Helen was out behind her house, sitting in a lawn chair and using a steel shingle to scrap the rust and dried blood off of her machete. A lantern was set on a crate next to her, the flickering light making her face look even more solemn than usual. When he sat in one of the other three chairs, she scarcely looked up, diligently scrubbing away at the old blade. 

MacCready thought about saying something, but decided against it. It was easier to just sit there, keeping an eye on the surrounding area, taking the occasional swig from his newly acquired spirits. Watching her try to dangerously scrape away at the machete was going to give him some kind of neurotic condition, so he had to break the silence.

“You know, if you put some oil on that sucker it’ll get clean a lot faster.” Of course, he shouldn’t have opened his big mouth. 

Helen shot him a glance, held up the blade to observe how definitely not clean it was, and then stood. “How do you know?”

“How do you not? That kind of stuff is survival 101 in the Commonwealth.” For what felt like the hundredth time, he squinted at her, trying to figure out what her deal was. “Where are you from, anyway?”

“Why do you care?”

“You hired me. Figured I’d get to know you better, since we’ll be spending the foreseeable future watching one another’s backs.”

After thinking it over for a few moments, she said, “I’m from a Vault. I’ve only been out for about six months.” 

“Wow. Why’d you leave? Musta been a pretty cushy life in comparison.” It was a lie, of course. He’d lived next to a Vault back in the Capital Wasteland and didn’t have many fond memories of it. 

A briefly pained expression passed over her face. “I’m…looking for my son. He was kidnapped by the Institute, probably. He’s just a baby.”

MacCready damned his soft heart, and couldn’t help but think of Duncan. “Those bastards. I guess there’s nothing they won’t do.”

“Yeah.” Helen sounded distinctly upset. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Is MacCready your first name, or your last?”

“It’s my last name, but I never was real fond of people calling me anything else. I got used to it. And I kinda like it, you know? Sounds almost military, but not like those Brotherhood ass…idiots.”

“So what’s your first name?”

“Robert. Robert Joseph MacCready, since we’re talking about it.”

“Robert!” She exclaimed.

“Jeez, what were you expecting?”

She seemed embarrassed. “I don’t know. Not Robert. It’s old fashioned. It reminds me of names back…back home.” 

“I know it’s not a great name, but can you maybe not make it sound like you had to put down a dog named Robert or something?” 

“Oh, sorry,” She said. “But I suppose it’s only fair. My last name’s Lawson. Helen Lawson.” 

“Well, it’s nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Lawson.” The sarcasm worked its way back into his speech, and he tipped the bottle of whiskey at her in a mock toast.

Helen gave a thin smile and stood. “I’ll grab some oil.”

There was a tiny shed between her house and the rotting one next door, and she made a quick run to it. When she came back, she had a small oil can and a pack of cigarettes. Without saying a word, she held out the open pack to offer him one. 

“Thanks, but I try not to bum cigarettes off of people. It usually means they’ll want one from me later.” MacCready reached into the pocket of his coat and produced his own pack, only to dig out—nothing. 

Helen flipped out a lighter, a nice steel flip lighter, and it clinked when she snapped it shut. Not unkindly, she tossed over her pack. “Take a couple. We’ll find more once we head out tomorrow. And don’t worry about giving me any.”

He took two and tossed it back, tucking the extra into the band of his hat. “If you say so, boss.”

For a while they sat and smoked, moving very little except to tap out ashes. He took a few more swigs of whiskey before becoming suddenly repulsed by it and setting the bottle on the ground. MacCready found that one could tell a lot about a person by how they smoked, if they smoked. Helen held hers tightly between her fore and middle fingers, like most women, taking light puffs from it. Just more proof she was from a Vault, he supposed. It was just a delicate way of smoking. 

“Something on my face?” She asked coolly. 

“Nope,” He said, and supplied no further explanation. Helen nodded slowly, eyebrows raised, but also said nothing else about it. A few minutes later, she tapped the half-burned cigarette out but was careful to keep it intact to smoke later.

“Get some sleep.” It was clearly an order. “People are keeping watch at the edge of the farm, so don’t worry about me. There’s sleeping bags in the main barn.”

“All right, boss.” He got up and started off, but stopped and turned back around. “Hey, uh, was that true, what you said about being the General?”

Helen was dousing the machete in oil already, as well as a ripped rag. “It means what I said. I’m the General of the Minutemen. Not that it means very much, since we consist of only three or four dozen people. But those people are very…eager about it.” 

He scoffed, amused. “Eh, painting initials on your door isn’t even the weirdest thing you’ve done in the past 48 hours.”

She paused and looked back at him. “Hm? Then what is?”

All he could do was shrug, and he was pleased with his dramatic flair as he turned to walk away. “You want to hit the Opera.”

The woman paused, mouth open slightly, and then gave another tight smile before going back to her polishing. “Bright and early tomorrow, MacCready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took me twenty years to get even the second chapter out, its a little slow now that i look at it, but i'm going to be busy at work for a while so i hope this can hold you guys over until i can update regularly :)
> 
> I'm not sure how to respond to comments or the etiquette behind all that, so to the person who asked if this would be a slow burn, yes, you can expect a very slow burn if i can ever update lmao 
> 
> leave some feedback, i'd love to hear what you're thinking, so far feedback has been really positive, so thank you to all those who left comments and kudos!


	3. Fire Support

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t walk in front of me… I may not follow  
> Don’t walk behind me… I may not lead  
> Walk beside me… just be my friend”  
> ― Albert Camus

Helen was beginning to doubt her decision about hiring that merc. Those types of people simply couldn’t be trusted, and although he was charismatic, that only made her more suspicious. How many people had he scammed? She did not intend to join that list, however long it was.

Robert. A name from before the war, it felt to her. Rumors had led her to that den in Goodneighbor, and what use had it proved? He’d done little to show that he was worth those 250 caps that she’d so foolishly sacrificed, except for make stupid comments about whatever he happened to be thinking about, it seemed.

“Just how many settlements do you, uh…own, exactly?”

It was like he could read her damn mind. She didn’t even bother looking back at him. “A few. Maybe six or seven.”

“Six _or_ seven? You can’t remember?”

“Does it matter?”

“Pretty sure it matters to the people living in that seventh settlement.” 

Helen rolled her eyes at the road ahead. “Then, fine, seven. I lost track. I’m sure my…” What to call Preston? “ _Lieutenant_ could supply more detailed statistics, if you’re so curious.”

“I never said _that_.” He laughed, but it was a laugh that was barely vocal; a jaded scoff was a more accurate description. She was learning that that was usually his chosen expression of amusement. “I was just wondering, since you’re the big important General. You know, I thought maybe you’d know offhand.”

“Well, I don’t. Sorry to disappoint.”

He shut up for a few merciful seconds after that, giving her the peace of mind to look at her Pip-Boy map. The fastest way to the hospital was due east, and then to cross the river south from there…but were any bridges operational? If not, then the fastest way was to keep going south and then cut east at the edge of the city, keeping at the riverbank. Raiders and super mutants liked to lurk around there, though…

A gunshot close over her head made her flinch reflexively. The shot was a ways off, but the whizzing of the bullet past her ear was too close. “Christ!”

“Get to cover!” MacCready swung his rifle out and was already aiming at the approaching band of raiders.

Helen skittered behind a large rock, yanking at her machete to get it out of her belt. The mercenary joined her in a hurry, not turning his back on the highwaymen for a second. “How many?” She called.

“Uh, five? Six?”

“Well, is it five or six?”

He ducked, and a bullet sent his hat spiraling off his head. “Jesus! Does it matter?”

“I’m pretty sure it matters for that sixth guy.” She retorted.

He glanced at her sharply. “Fine, six! I was a bit busy trying to keep your as—“ He clicked his teeth. “Your _butt_ from getting shot to do any counting! A butt that kinda needs protecting, since you don’t use a _gun._ ”

Helen glared. “I shouldn’t have to _do_ anything! That’s what I hired you for!”

MacCready gave a kind of incredulous smile, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Listen, lady—”

“ _Found you_!” The sing-song voice of a female raider was grating on Helen’s ears, and the only warning they got before the crazed woman rounded the corner of their poor hiding spot. Without thinking, Helen swung the machete as hard as she could, rolling her arm like she was hitting a baseball, and the blade stuck three inches into the raider’s knee with a wet _thwack_.

Blood sprayed everyone in the vicinity, and the raider dropped with the screeching wail of a banshee, spitting curses and rolling on the ground. A gunshot put her out, MacCready’s doing, and Helen’s ears rang with tinnitus. She lunged forward to rip her machete back out of the corpse and took it back just fast enough to miss the stomping boot of a second raider.

“You fucking bit—” The insult was cut off when a hole appeared in his head with a crack, a shot that Helen hadn’t heard, her ears still singing and making the surrounding gunfire a dull ticking. The kill was so fast it was hard to register until his body hit the earth, next to the woman’s.

MacCready was kneeling, bracing the rifle on the rock to take shots at the other raiders, not even looking at the man he’d just killed. The raiders were hesitating, having seen two of their friends go down in a matter of thirty seconds, but Helen knew their type. They were no better than animals. It seemed her bodyguard was of a similar opinion, as he continued to shoot at them. Satisfied with the amount of suppressive fire he was dealing out, Helen gripped her machete and spun out from behind their cover.

Running at people who wanted her dead, as she was apt to do, made her so afraid she wanted to laugh. In a sick way, it was almost fun. People usually didn’t expect her to come at them head on. She wound up her swing before reaching the closest raider. The scrawny limbs and vile teeth he bore labeled him as a drug addict. His bugged-out eyes found her too late, when she was too close, the barrel of the gun swiveling too slow. Helen bared her teeth and struck him hard, the full momentum cutting his head nearly half off in a single swing. Blood gushed, literally spurted out at her from the gaping maw where his neck used to be, and she moved out of the way.

The man behind him, another vaguely drugged-seeming person, was more prepared for her, but in turn forgot that MacCready was still shooting at him. The first bullet took him through the leg, and in a remarkable act of predicting where he was going to kneel, the second one got him through the temple. The sound of a skull being turned to a pulp wasn’t one Helen thought she would hear in her lifetime, but it was becoming commonplace already.

Last but not least, the woman left standing tried to make a break for it. She was short, and fast. Helen was taller, and faster.

MacCready met her on her way back, doing a little half-jog to make an effort. “You all right?” He asked.

“Yeah.” She said. The blood on her face was cooling. It reminded her of the way heavy make-up would dry and feel like a crusted facemask. She wiped some away with her sleeve. “See if they have any money on them.”

“Good to know you’ve still got your priorities straight, boss.” He dusted off his hat and frowned at the clipped corner. “Man. I liked this hat, too.”

Helen reached out and took it from him, looking it over. “I can sew it up when we stop for the day.”

“Really?”

The surprise in his voice was too obvious. She raised an eyebrow at him and tossed his hat at back him. “Yes, really. Is it so hard to believe that I know how to sew?”

The merc tried to play it off cool, giving a loose shrug and pretending his wide-eyed surprise hadn’t existed. “Eh, it’s not something that people prioritize, you know? How to shoot a gun, how to make radroaches edible…that’s the kind of stuff people learn out here in the Commonwealth. But I guess you never had to worry about that stuff in the Vault.”

Helen turned away to pat down a raider’s blood-stained pockets, but it was more of an excuse to hide the discomfort on her face. “Mmhm. We learned how to sew, cook, dress nicely, host parties, balance our checkbooks, do our hair…”

MacCready was picking through the gruesome remains of the second druggy man, and looked to her. “What’s a checkbook?”

Shit. “It’s, um…it’s like a receipt for how much money we could spend. You write how much you want to spend on it, then give it to whoever you’re buying from. Then the bank withdraws that amount of money from your account and gives it to the person you paid. After you get paid for your job, you tally up how much you spent versus how much you made. That last bit is balancing the checkbook, more or less.”

“Wow, that sounds boring. Life in the Vault must have been pretty dull if that was the kind of stuff you had to learn.”

“Well…it did have its positives.” Helen wiped her hands off on her jumpsuit, leaving rusty red streaks and feeling the weight of her dual wedding bands on her fingers. “But living out here is more exciting, I suppose.”

“Yeah, I guess if you like getting shot at. But hey, it is what it is. Ready to hit the road?” 

Helen pulled her brows together, confused because for some reason she didn’t feel like hitting him anymore. It had been something of a consistent urge beforehand. It could be the bullet hole just through the narrow brim of his hat, or the fresh blood on his boots, but she realized that he was really in this with her. For the long haul, for real.

MacCready wasn’t looking at her, preoccupied with taking the second, final cigarette out of the band of his hat and lighting it, hand cupped around the flame. She was staring, though. He looked up, glanced back and forth without moving his head. “What? Something up?”

The ex-vault dweller raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “Nope. Let’s head out.”

\----------- 

Helen let her head fall back against the shelving behind her. The chosen hideout was a riverside hutch, probably used to store bait a couple centuries ago, but was little more than an empty shed as of recent years. MacCready parked it in a patchy lawn chair, kicking his feet out with a sigh. It had been a long day. Helen’s feet ached, and her face felt stiff from squinting into the dust and sun all day. By her Pip-Boy’s calendar, it was just the beginning of May. The winter had come and gone without letting anyone know it had arrived. It was a stark change for Helen; she remembered the freezing, snowy winters of Boston like they were yesterday. Just another bitter reminder that the world was not what she knew anymore.

“What the heck?” MacCready’s muttering gave her an excuse to stop the melancholy train of thought. He was leaning down, touching the floorboards with the tips of his fingers. “You see that?”

“What? I don’t see anything.” 

“Wait, shh. Listen.” He tapped his foot in one spot, then moved a few inches to the right and tapped again. The second tap had a distinct echo. The merc’s eyes lit up, and they made eye contact. “Bingo! Now, just to find something we can…no, no, don’t—!”

Helen grabbed her machete and dug it into the floorboard, pulling backwards to pry it up, and registered MacCready’s warning just a beat too late.

The blade snapped in half with a sound like a coat hanger being thrown at a wall. She fell back on her ass, blinking in shock, holding the broken blade. MacCready reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. Helen laughed, a surprised bark of incredulity, and pried the other half of the blade out of the floor.

“Sorry,” was all she could say.

“Yeah, just…if there’s a stash there’s probably a way to get at it close by.” MacCready stood up and patted through in the shelving that lined the walls of the shack. Sure enough, he had an honest-to-god crowbar within about thirty seconds.

“Oh, Lord…” It was her turn to rub at her nose. “I must seem like a real dumbass.”

He made a noncommittal noise and shrugged, palms up. “Can’t blame you for trying.” He held the crowbar in two hands and knelt over the stash. “Bet they didn’t teach you this in the Vault,” He said smugly, and slammed the bar into the floor.

It was a good hit right to the seam, and the wood buckled. The board came up with ease, the rusted nails dangling like the roots of a plant, exposing a dark pit below. Both of them peered down into it, trying to get a good look inside.

“I’ll give you twenty caps right now if you stick your hand in there.” Helen said.

MacCready laughed. “I’m desperate, but I’m not _that_ desperate. Believe it or not, I’ve still got a few self-preservation instincts hidden up my sleeve.”

“One of us has to. Oh, wait.” She flicked on the neon green light built into her Pip-Boy. “There. Wish me luck.”

Praying, praying, praying to _God_ there wasn’t one of those giant rats down there, or Lord forbid a ghoul, Helen lowered her hand into the hole. Whoever had dug it had dug it deep, and she had to brace her right hand on the floor to stick her whole arm down into the stash. It was chill and damp down there, and she flinched away from the moist soil.

“See anything down there?” MacCready asked. 

Helen pressed her eye to the crack beside her arm. “Yeah, there’s something…hold on…there.” Her fingers found purchase on a tin something-or-other, and when she pulled it out looked like a sandwich box. “There’s more, let me grab it.”

The second object was glass, and heavy, and she knew what it was right away. The label was blurred into nothing, but it was definitely alcohol. She cracked open the ancient cap and took a whiff. “Whew. Is this…toxic?”

MacCready beckoned for the bottle and she handed it over. After sniffing the lip, he wrinkled his nose and said, “Hey, anything this foul has gotta be worth a taste.”

He wiped out a couple of chipped coffee mugs sitting nearby and splashed in a couple fingers of the whatever-it-was. Helen took hers with a skeptical frown, but raised her cup all the same. “Cheers.” 

“Down the hatch.” Her bodyguard agreed, and they threw back the stuff.

It tasted like dirt and fire, the alcohol so high in concentration it was like a chemical on the back of her throat. There was a coppery tang to the aftertaste. MacCready was coughing, and she began to as well, and her fingers were already going numb from a drunken high that could never be produced by liquor from her time, and the floor went upside-down and her elbow hit the ground and she blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was pretty long, sorry. thanks for the support so far everyone! i'll update more this week and whatnot, don't forget to leave comments, questions, answers, headcanons, fav pizza toppings, or whatever you want to !


	4. Leading By Example

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “But life, they said, means life. Dying inside.  
> The Devil was evil, mad, but I was the Devil's wife  
> which made me worse. I howled in my cell.  
> If the Devil is gone then how could this be hell?”
> 
> ― Carol Ann Duffy, The World's Wife

Pain was what woke Helen first.

Creeping in from the back of her head, growing worse the more conscious she became until it was a heavy, nauseous throbbing that seemed to wrap around her skull like a blanket. Opening and closing her dry, sticky mouth, she gave up on trying to stay awake and began to doze again.

MacCready woke her next. “Hey, boss. Get up, we gotta get outta here. Boss!” His voice was too loud and urgent; he needed to be quiet, already. Couldn’t he do anything? Helen ignored him, hoping he’d think she was still sleeping.

He gave her shoulder a shake. “Boss!” When she still refused to stir, she heard him mutter, “Christ, please don’t be dead,” and promptly slapped her across the face.

Helen jerked up, her head screaming its protest, and opened her burning eyes. “What the hell!” Her cheek stung badly, and she rubbed it, glaring at him. “I’m up, you ass.”

“Well, ex _cuse_ me.” MacCready held his hands up sarcastically. “You were out like a light just a few seconds ago.”

She let her head fall into her hands. “I haven’t drank like that since…what the hell _was_ that stuff?" 

“Who knows? Drink something out of an unlabelled bottle in the Commonwealth, you’re gonna have some interesting results.” He sat back and crossed his legs, not looking directly at her.

Helen blinked and squinted at him, wondering if she was possibly still drunk, because her bodyguard was sitting on a dirty concrete floor in nothing but his boxers. After a quick glance down, she saw that she was also in just her plain white bra and panties. They were sitting in an old prison cell, somewhere chilly and damp. A single, filthy mattress with holes and brown stains on it was in the cell with them.

Attempting to cover herself with her arms, Helen said, “Where are we? What happened?”

“Close as I can figure, we got caught by some raiders while we were plastered. They were here earlier, but I couldn’t get a good look at their faces.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Guess they’re gonna try and get a ransom by keeping us here.”

“A ransom? From who?”

“Beats me. They must’ve recognized you.”

Helen sighed and crossed her arms. “Great.” She rubbed her hands together to keep warm, and stopped. The rings, her wedding ring; they were gone. She jumped to her feet. “Where are our clothes? My ring is gone!”

“I heard one of ‘em say that it was in a trunk on the top floor.” MacCready said. “But don’t worry, I’m gonna get my stuff back if it kills me.”

She glanced at him, trying not to look for too long. Without his hat, his hair stuck up in goofy angles. It was lighter blond than she’d expected, though she didn’t know what she had been expecting. More upsetting, though, was the fact that he was very muscular and wiry. Helen was proud of how fit she’d gotten in the past several months, but seeing him, someone who was born and bred to live in this world…it just made her realize that it would be child’s play for him to hurt her if he wanted to.

As if to demonstrate in a harmless way, he turned his hand over, fingers slightly curled, to inspect some peeling skin on the backs of his knuckles. “So, I guess we should figure out a plan.”

“Yeah.” Helen looked away.

The room before them was filled with rusted cream desks, the gutted terminals resting on top like decaying jack-o-lanterns. Their cell had a wall on the left side. On the right they could see through the adjacent three cells. She crouched down and slapped her hand on the solid wall. A chunk of plaster crumpled off in response. “This looks promising.”

MacCready put a hand on her shoulder and moved her aside. “I got it, boss.” A large rock was in his hand, the one with the already-bruised knuckles. A single good punch from him broke a huge chunk of the wall off, exposing the rotting plywood skeleton of the building beneath it. He dropped the rock and shook his hand in pain, but pulled his grimace into a grin. “Impressed yet?”

“Yeah, actually.” Helen found herself saying. “I kind of am.”

“Hey, that’s the plan.” He laughed.

“I’ll go this time,” She said, picking the rock up off the ground. “We have to make at least a little progress.”

Her hit did less damage with one hit, so she whacked the wall a couple times before dropping the stone. “ _Ow,_ shit…”

“You all right, boss?”

“Yeah, yeah…hey, look!” Helen pointed at the wall. Between the beams of wood that held the building up, she could poke a finger through the plaster on the other side, through the frayed fiberglass remnants of insulation and rat droppings. Balling her hand into a fist, she gave the wall a good punch, and busted a melon-sized hole in the weak excuse for a wall.

“There you go!” MacCready exclaimed. “We’ll be out of here in no time flat.”

“ _What was that?!”_

“ _Those assholes downstairs.”_

Footsteps thundered over their heads, chairs scraped against the floor in the room on their other side. Helen backed against the hole in the wall, trying to keep it covered, but she would have to hold her arms out to cover all of it. The footsteps and voices were nearly upon them. Swallowing her pride, she waved a hand at MacCready.

“Come here!” She hissed. The mercenary took a couple hesitant steps closer, holding his right hand gingerly. Heavy boots stamped on the landing around the corner to the room, and Helen felt panic set in. “ _Come here!_ ” When he was within arms’ reach she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him so they stood chest to chest.

Footsteps tapped into the room, one heavy and the other quick and light. Helen stared up at MacCready, not daring to break eye contact. Resting his hand and forearm over the hole, he leaned over her, brow furrowed in what was presumably pain from using his right hand. Helen’s hands were clammy and cold; she clenched and unclenched them at her sides. The wall was rough and uncomfortable on her bare back, but MacCready was close enough to be almost warm. To his credit, he didn’t leer at her. His eyes were blue, a little hazel, but dark. She had seen the beach of the ocean once, and it reminded her of that, the dark sand and the blue of the water mingling, and it was sort of beautiful.

“Ah, it’s nothin’,” a male voice drawled. Helen glanced to the side, watching a person who was more bear than human smirk at them. A buck-toothed waif of a woman bounced on her heels next to him. “Just gettin’ a little cozy, I see. Hey!” 

The snap of his voice made Helen jump, and she grabbed MacCready’s hand, the one hanging at his side. His fingers were rough but warm, and wrapped around hers reassuringly. The bodyguard turned his head, but didn’t move. “Yeah, what do you want?”

“You’re the leader of that band of assholes, right? Those Minutemen?” He jabbed a finger at Helen.

She glowered. “And if I am?”

“Well, you and your little… _friend_ here broke into our stash. That was some pretty rare booze you two drank up, and I ain’t real keen on gettin’ stole from.”

“Y-Yeah, we ain’t real keen on it!” The woman giggled manically, and was struck for her trouble.

“Shut up, Bingo! Bitch.” The man snarled. “Anyway, we got a bounty on yer head, miss _General_. Lucky for you, it sounds like some buddies o’ yers are willin’ to pay it, long as they get you alive.”

Bingo, the woman, wiped her mouth and spat a glob of blood out, her toothy smile never fading. “And it’s a hefty bounty, ain’t it, Jigsaw, ain’t it?” 

“Shut _up!_ ” Jigsaw shoved her, hard, into a desk, but she bounced back like she was made of rubber. Psycho was a hell of a drug. She probably couldn’t even feel pain.

“What do you mean by buddies? Who’s paying?” Helen asked.

“Just so happens that the mayor o’ Goodneighbor himself was tuned in to our little ham radio station. Man like that has a lotta caps lyin’ around, and he was more’n willin’ to oblige us.”

“ _Hancock_ is going to pay _you_?” MacCready scoffed.

Jigsaw shot him a look, his beard shifting back and forth when he ground his teeth. “That’s right, dickhole. Now you two just sit tight, got it? I got no problem with killin’ the both of you.” As an afterthought, he added, “And keep it down. I hear you two fuckin’ down here and you’re both dead. Come on, Bingo.”

The pair of raiders stomped back up the stairs. When their footsteps stopped, the sounds of glasses clinking and chairs shifting taking their place, Helen let out a tense breath of relief. MacCready took a step back from her, and she noticed with a start that he was bleeding.

“Your hand!” She cried. Blood was running down the fingers of the hand he’d used to break open the wall. The knuckles had been split open, maybe even broken.

“Yeah,” he observed the injuries in an unimpressed way. “Well, hey, it’s not as bad as getting a hole in my hat. Patching up clothes isn’t cheap, and right now I need every cap I can get.”

The former Vault-dweller twisted her mouth skeptically, but didn’t argue. There was nothing she could do to help him at the moment. “Why _do_ you need so much money, anyway?”

He winced a little, but she suspected it wasn’t because of his hand. “Listen, I promise to tell you whatever you wanna know once we get out of here. But I’m not really in the ‘spill-my-guts’ mood right now. I just want to get my stuff back and walk out with my head still intact. After that, you can go all ‘third degree’ on me if you want. Deal?”

Helen nodded. “All right. Deal. And…” She hesitated. “And you can do the same. Ask whatever you want, I mean. I guess...well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me. If you want to stick around with me for much longer you’ll have to know sooner or later, and I’d rather you heard the full story from me then someone else.”

The merc smiled, showing a missing canine tooth. Helen had seen some bad teeth since she’d woken up, and his weren’t exactly the pinnacle of dental health either, but there was something endearing about the missing tooth. It reminded her of a little kid.

“You got a deal, boss.” He reached out and they shook hands, their second in just a couple weeks, and his blood was warm on her palm. “Now let’s blow this place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the continued support! I'll try and update again before Christmas, but if not then happy holidays to everyone! :)


	5. Getting a Clue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...I told him a story of two people. Two people who shouldn't have met, and who didn't like each other much when they did, but who found they were the only two people in the world who could possibly have understood each other.”
> 
> ― Jojo Moyes, Me Before You

Over the course of the day they chipped away at the wall, literally. There was a layer of thin wood, ridged like an accordion, which was easy enough for one person to crack and another to pry away with their hands or a piece of rubble. MacCready spent more time than he thought possible picking splinters out of his hands. It took a few hours to get a sizable hunk of the wall stripped away to make a good, proper hole. It took both of them to rip out the supporting two-by-four right in the middle of their work, slowly leaning on it so as not to make any noise to alert Jigsaw and the other raiders in the building. It was not for nothing, though. The hole had expanded to about the length and height of his arm, bigger than they’d be able to cover with another little ruse. 

The thought of those few minutes made him flush, and he was glad she had her back turned on him. She was his boss, his goddamn employer. In the years he’d been taking work for hire he was proud to say that he’d never had conflicts of interest, or at least none that cost him any caps. And he was totally willing to forget what had happened, chalking it up to doing what they had to to cover their tracks, case in point, the giant gaping hole in the wall of their cell.

But he couldn’t shake the memory of the way her hand had grabbed his in panic, clutching his fingers with the cold, tight strength women have. It had been the first time he was close enough to see her eye color: dark blue, a color not unlike that Vault jumpsuit but darker, heavier beneath her black hair and black lashes, like a femme fatale from an old comic book. So go ahead, sue him; she wasn’t unattractive, she was in her underwear, and he was just a man, for crying out loud. It wasn’t like he could _help_ it.

“Shit,” she swore. She had been leaning against the wall with one hand, using the other to steadily break away and smooth out the edges of the hole, but now sat back on her heels. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What?” He looked over her shoulder. The last layer of wood was gone, and on the other side was—concrete. “Oh, great. Now we can die in here _without_ any hope. And here I thought I was going to have some integrity.”

Helen sighed and held up her hands, and they looked like his: bleeding, shaking, full of splinters and cuts, and for what? Nothing, now. It was a dead end. There were no windows in the room, but it was getting cold, and MacCready was getting both tired and hungry. His employer sat up against the back wall, on the dirty mattress, and curled up with her arms around her knees. When they’d first woken up in there, he’d tried his best not to look at her. Now it didn’t seem to matter as much. He sat up next to her, wishing he had a cigarette.

“You think Hancock’s really gonna come and pay to get us out of here?” She asked, looking at the ceiling.

“Hancock’s a stand-up guy, he could pull through for us.” When her grim expression dropped further, he added, “Watch, he’ll be here in that goofy red coat of his in no time.” 

Helen set her head on her knees, narrowing her eyes at him with an expression that was hard to put a finger to. “Are you still waiting to let me in on the reason you want all my caps? It doesn’t look like we’ll be getting out until Hancock gets here. _If_ he gets here,” she added.

He raised an eyebrow. “I might be in a sharing mood. Why?”

“I was just…the way you said that to me, about him being here any minute…” A faint smile touched her lips. “It reminds me of talking to little kids. I don’t want to pry, but…” The question hung, unsaid, in the air.

MacCready cringed inwardly, but gave a loose shrug and played it off cool. “Spent some time around kids back in the Capital Wasteland. You get used to talkin’ to them after a while.”

Something like wonder hit her face like a beam of light. When her eyes widened he could see faint crows feet at the corners of her eyes. He wondered what she looked like when she laughed for real. “You mean...you’ve _been_ to Washington D.C? What is it like there now?”

“Oh, you know, about the same it’s been for the past couple centuries. Full of Super Mutants, Brotherhood of Steel, a couple crazy Vaulties like you running around.”

“No, I mean what happened to the monuments? Like the White House, the Washington monument, all the important ones.” She was almost baring her teeth, such was her earnestness.

“They’re still standing, more or less, but who cares? No one’s given a crap about them in a long time. You know, and no offense, but you’ve been acting pretty weirdly lately, boss. You got something you need to tell me, just say it.” 

Helen swallowed and relaxed a little. “Sorry. Listen…I haven’t been completely honest. I did come from a Vault but I had been frozen in it, in some kind of cryo tube. For the last 200 years. I only remember being in the Vault for about an hour.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Wait, slow down. Are you saying you were _alive before the War_?”

 “Yeah,” she rubbed her hands together, not meeting his stare. “I woke up about six months ago, someone woke us up by force. They killed my h…” She faltered, her voice catching. “They killed my husband, and they took my baby boy. Shaun. He wasn’t even a year old, they took him…It must be the Institute, but without money I’ve got nowhere to go, no where to turn, I just…”

It had to be the most words she’d spoken in a row to him, but he knew the feeling. Once all the touchy-feely stuff started, it just came spilling out like a faucet. He’d said his fair share of stupid stuff that way. So he placed a hand on her bare shoulder, hoping it was comforting and not creepy. “Those bastards just don’t know where to draw the line. I’d bet my bottom cap it was the Institute, but baby-napping is low, even for them.”

Helen shook her head. “I just don’t understand it. This world…it’s so cruel. It’s nothing like when I was growing up.” She took a deep breath. “Will you help me? Find Shaun, I mean. Will you?”

MacCready held his hands up, smiling. “It’s what you’re paying me for. I’d walk a thousand miles if I knew there was a pile of caps waiting for me at the end, so I can rescue your kid too.”

The caps were definitely a good motivator. Maybe he could weasel another respectable sum out of her if he helped her find her kid. Grateful people were also generous people. But if he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t just that. He tried to imagine what he would do if Duncan was taken by the Institute, whisked away from under his nose, and he couldn’t. It made him queasy just thinking about it. Things were bad enough with his little man as it was, but at least he knew he was still alive and present.

“Thank you, Robert.”

The merc sputtered, turned his shock into a laugh. “Say _what_?”

Helen raised her eyebrows; that damn mannerism was starting to piss him off. “Can’t I call you by your name?”

He scoffed, shook his head a little and looked away. “Yeah, I guess. No one’s called me that in a long time.” Not even Lucy. Bobby was her name for him, and _only_ hers. “I guess I just got used to plain old MacCready.”

“Well, plain old MacCready, you’re in _my_ employ now, so I’m going to call you Robert. First names are your first name for a reason, you know.” She poked her finger into the mattress to punctuate her words.

Footsteps from the stairwell pushed back his incoming comment on how naïve she was. There was a few seconds of silence as they waited. The person turned the corner: a raider. A slightly overweight woman with a large burn on half her painted face, and short, greasy hair shaved on one side. The nasty snarl on her lip put a cherry on top of the ugly sundae. A well-polished machete was on her hip—Helen’s machete, MacCready noticed with a jolt. She approached the cell, glancing briefly at the hole in the wall, and pulled her lip into a sneer. The scar on her face pulled, too, exposing the naked pink lip underneath.

“Nice try, idiots. You’re in a basement.” The raider pushed a plastic bottle of cloudy water through the bars, and then a dented box of Sugar Bombs. 

“Thanks for the heads up.” MacCready called after her, a little half-heartedly.

“Fuck you,” she said from the stairwell.

“How nice of them,” he sighed after her footsteps had vanished. “At least they’re feeding us.”

They broke open the Sugar Bombs box to make a plate on which to split the small amount of cereal left, and took turns drinking the water. It had the warm, coppery tang of radiation. After they’d eaten most of it—not all, he was quick to remind Helen, because they didn’t know if this would be their meal of the day or the week—it came time for the matter of sleeping arrangements.

“I’ll take the floor,” she said. “It’s no problem.”

“Yeah, like I’d let you do that. Locked up or not, you’re still the boss. You get the luxurious full queen, I can take the floor.” When she looked like she was about to argue, he added, “I’ve slept in worse places than this in the past six months alone. Just take the dang mattress.”

Eventually they compromised on each using the mattress as a pillow, sleeping on opposite ends with their heads and shoulders in the middle, feet out, like a line. MacCready curled up on his side, trying to keep warm in their chilly cellar cell, and eased into a fitful, restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was gonna be way longer but that would have meant one seriously long chapter, which is a bit much for some of us still recovering from our post-Christmas hangovers. I know I am! 
> 
> Thanks for the support so far! It means so much, seriously.


End file.
